"woodsmen" poems
A fisherman is drifting, enjoying the spring mountains,
And the peach-trees on both banks lead him to an ancient source.
Watching the fresh-coloured trees, he never thinks of distance
Till he comes to the end of the blue stream and suddenly- strange men!
It's a cave-with a mouth so narrow that he has to crawl through;
But then it opens wide again on a broad and level path --
And far beyond he faces clouds crowning a reach of trees,
And thousands of houses shadowed round with flowers and bamboos....
Woodsmen tell him their names in the ancient speech of Han;
And clothes of the Qin Dynasty are worn by all these people
Living on the uplands, above the Wuling River,
On farms and in gardens that are like a world apart,
Their dwellings at peace under pines in the clear moon,
Until sunrise fills the low sky with crowing and barking.
...At news of a stranger the people all assemble,
And each of them invites him home and asks him where he was born.
Alleys and paths are cleared for him of petals in the morning,
And fishermen and farmers bring him their loads at dusk....
They had left the world long ago, they had come here seeking refuge;
They have lived like angels ever since, blessedly far away,
No one in the cave knowing anything outside,
Outsiders viewing only empty mountains and thick clouds.
...The fisherman, unaware of his great good fortune,
Begins to think of country, of home, of worldly ties,
Finds his way out of the cave again, past mountains and past rivers,
Intending some time to return, when he has told his kin.
He studies every step he takes, fixes it well in mind,
And forgets that cliffs and peaks may vary their appearance.
...It is certain that to enter through the deepness of the mountain,
A green river leads you, into a misty wood.
But now, with spring-floods everywhere and floating peachpetals --
Which is the way to go, to find that hidden source?
4.6k
****** into my sofa,
The infinite space of it.
The faces of my friends are melting off,
Like heated wax running down a candle stick.
I loaded the universe into a gun,
And I shot myself in the head.
I can not tell if I am breathing.
Am I alive or am I dead?
I’m strapped to the outside of a rocket ship with nothing in the way.
I’m taking off, and I just keep going. Reaching a height higher than heaven.
There’s nothing to orient myself. No time. No space. No self. Nothing but darkness stretching out all around me.
A roar of a million voices are screaming over each other, they’re resonating in my head.
I’ve come into orbit. Everything is beginning to crystalize.
Surrounding me are complex geometrical patterns of love and understanding.
Gibberish wall textures are whispering messages through their feelings.
This is all too much to take in,
It is like the universe orgasmed into my eye.
I just want to go home,
I think I am going to die.
A sense of calm echoes through me,
Probably brought upon by the faces of my long lost family.
They have so much dimension to them,
So beautiful, light and shimmering.
Looking like something out of religious doctrine,
They came out from the open.
Released me into my primal light laser body,
Everybody has been laughing at the joke never spoke.
And now that I get it,
It is infinitely funny.
It is like the sand man blew his sand,
Taking me on a train to dream land.
They are showing me everything,
I can not even begin to understand.
How am I supposed to understand infinity,
When I can barely understand a single moment.
I see God in a head of lettuce.
I feel the earth's rotation,
As I spin around the sun.
God handed me the universe loaded into a revolver,
And fired me into a flashing rainbow shower.
Friday's smoke opera has rendered me dumb.
Bathing in a melting rainbow,
The cosmos is dripping down my skin.
Infinity is stretching out,
And withdrawing within.
I become the colour,
And the colour becomes me.
I am in everything,
And everything is in me.
Coming out of the woodsmen's cloud,
I hear a child screaming out.
I didn't know what it was then,
But now I know what it is about.
The trees are no longer silhouettes,
My destination is not my goal.
I am in the middle,
Wherever I go.
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 5:45 PM UTC
2. The Abby Well
Rahu, old sage of Wu Tai Shan,
Stood by the Great Doors of the Abby.
His dog slept at his feet.
The wood gatherers were descending from the mountain
Their carts piled high with kindling.
They stopped to draw water from the Abby well.
One woodsman spoke up.
“Hey old man, why is the armies of the north
Encamped on the west wall?”
“I have not been so informed until now” Rauh replied.
“Let me ask my dog Ketv.”
The dog arose and stretched its back.
“My dog is also ill informed.” he said.
“I thought you were the sage, old man.”
The woodsmen laughed.
“Is it your dog that speaks to you?
Let me hear his wise advice”.
“He will not speak except to me.” replied Rauh.
“The old monk’s dog barks at the moon. What does it mean?”
A woodsman mocked.
Refreshed the woodsmen left laughing and barking like dogs.
Soon thereafter Ketv began to sniff the air becoming very excited
“Go fetch the wandering monk of Wu Tai Shan,” Rayh implored,
“And I will stoke the fire and prepare tea.”
Soon the wanderer came into sight, thin, clad in rags,
With weathered skin and shining eyes.
“ You need not have sent Ketv to lead me back” he shouted from the Abby gate.
“I can not deny a dog his duty,
I can not lead those that will not follow.
Come here and bless this shrine with your wisdom” thus spoke Rayh.
Jul 15, 2011
Jul 15, 2011 at 11:42 AM UTC
Old beaten path, bent backward on its axis acting like a scientific textbook projection map.
Becoming something impossible to traverse even for expert woodsmen or a genius of a certain variety that is imbued with Zoom Zoom PED's, just enough red wine, or some self appointed enlightenment that "never failed me before"
Ignoring all traces of anxiety, disregarding inhibition, conquering every whim and mental roadblock desperately vying for success and representation as SOMEone instead of everyone else who writes in blue ink and drinks their coffee black and hides in plain sight and doesnt care what other people think and watches primetime reality television programs and believes in Jesus Christ and chews with their mouths closed and keeps their finges clean.
The Path
remains forever unbeaten
how far we get along it is our legacy that no one ever gave a **** about until we wrote about it.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
When walking through the woods
I heard him.
He spoke simple,concise.
Words more harsh then arctic winds
drifting past my heart.
No real pain though,
I was so cold my body was numb.
He had become a raw irritation.
With a smile on his face
He took his ax,
split my confidence like birch wood,
sprinkled the kindling of my ego
around me.
“It’s just not what i thought it would be,
I hope we can still be friends.”
He never told me what he though it was.
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 3:43 AM UTC
I sit alone along a stony brook.
I weep, for all my lonely sorrows.
I conceive of what my life has took,
And, I wish not to know any tomorrows.
I gaze on down into the flowing water's stream
And as I sit in my tears, I conjure up a dream;
And as the stream accepts my tears,
I try to ponder what this dream could mean.
I'm walking in a timberland,
and it set near a woodsmen’s mill.
And, with the flowing water's rushing sound,
it makes this dream seem real.
I see a miller's wheel, and it's turning high and round;
It squeaking high above my head.
And, when the water flows down down to the ground,
It is then, I see the water is red.
The water is red.
This seems strange but it is true.
And down there in this deep red water,
A soft little white lily grew .
It is as white as snow,
And as white as new
And here it is dwelling,
Inside this deep dark red pool.
Oh poor lily,
Now, it is changing to pink;
For of this cold flowing red water,
This poor little lily did drink;
Poor little flower,
This little lily is heavy from its drink;
It goes down down under the water
The lily did sink;
Into its red red watery grave.
I Reflect back on to my stony flowing stream.
I do ponder of what this image could mean.
A tear falls from a burning eye;
I sit here in my melancholy
And, I wonder why;
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
I spend the days of the week
Toiling for the man
Working with aluminum and steel
Making a living the best that I can
By the time the weekend rolls around
I've had enough of the concrete and steel
And it's time to get outside
Where at peace I feel
Then I can't help but wonder
How things must have been
For the pioneers of this nation
Those heroic women and men
With just a few sundries
As well as rifle, axe, and knife
They lived off the land
A challenging but satisfying life
Trapping by the river
Hunting in the woods
Gathering with other woodsmen
To buy and trade goods
No cell phone towers
No electrical lines everywhere
Crystal clear waters
And clean fresh air
Then from my reveries
I am jarred back awake
By the sound of man's traffic
And the unnatural noise it does make
Now we are more civilized
Living in city and town
Too civilized to hunt and trap
But adept at gunning one another down
Too civilized to live free
So we let gov't grow
Too civilized for independence
So we let liberty go
Give me a time machine
And I will go back to the past
For I care not for this civilized world
And the very dark shadow it does cast
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
Do happy endings always end happily?
Are fairy tales really fair and kind to all within them?
What about little red's wolf who was cut down,
hacked to pieces by the woodsmen's axe?
Not a day was left in his cut-short life.
He was hungry and without options.
What about their side of the story?
Malecifent was executed;
a sword to the Dragon's heart.
She was excluded and deemed evil.
What about their happily ever after?
Their actions may no have been moral,
nor so easily dismissed,
yet a villain should still have a good end.
Did they want to be called 'villains'
a title given to the wicked.
Don't all characters deserve a happy ending?
Is there really such a thing as villains?
Those who are deceitful, fierce, or cruel,
have their reasons for what they do.
Or is it a title bestowed to the misunderstood?
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC